


Road Trip

by BartimaeU2s



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declaration of Love, F/M, Fake Relationship, First Kiss, Humor, Janine - Freeform, Jealous John, Jealous!John, Jealousy, M/M, Post S3, Road Trip, Romance, Thing - Freeform, but I think it's for the best, commedy, mary is a bit OOC, sort of a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BartimaeU2s/pseuds/BartimaeU2s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wants to spend a few days alone with John and sets up a case in Scotland as an excuse. <br/>When Mary decides to come along, Sherlock makes up a plan to make John... veeery jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is the first fic I translate in English, since I'm not a mothertongue speaker, I asked wordsmithatwork.tumblr for help as a beta, so here I am.   
> You can find this fic in Italian if you're interested here: http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=2736824&i=1  
> Enjoy!

“Scotland? What do you want to go to Scotland for…?”

“ _To spend two days alone with you. You, me, a car and a case. Just like old times. No intrusive wives. No weepy babies. Just you and me, John,_ Sherlock thought.”

 

“To solve a case of stolen jewels.”

John glanced at him looking fairly perplexed, while his friend rolled his eyes and kept on studying the slide in the microscope.

 

“Are you sure it’s worth it? Remember the case of the Byelorussian man?”

“And do _you_ remember the case of Harry Knight?” Sherlock retorted, while setting the micrometer screw.

John shrugged, his friend did have a point.  
 “Okay. When are we leaving?”

And there he was! It was him! His John! The John who presumed he was invited without even asking! Who was involved nevertheless! Sherlock hardly hid a half-smile.

“In three weeks. I’ve got more important work to do first.”

“In three weeks?! And how do you hope to find those jewels if you give the thief three weeks of advantage?”

“I don’t hope to find them, John. I already know where they are, if my assumptions are correct. In the remote case that they aren’t, those jewels will be as lost in three weeks as they are right now.”

He removed the slide and took another one.

“So what are we going to Scotland for? Just e-mail them, or send them a text and get rid of them as you do for half of your clients?”

“Baskerville, John. Don’t forget Baskerville!”

“Okay then. Let me know the exact date so I can shift my work turns and tell Mary. There won’t be any problems.”

 

 

 

Eighteen days, twelve hours, twenty-seven minutes and nine seconds before their departure, a telephone rang in 221B. It was Sherlock’s best friend who, with a joyful exultation, had just informed him that Mary will be would have been joining them on their cheerful country trip.

“It’s not an outing, John, it’s work. Update your wife! “

“She already knows it, Sherlock. Don’t worry, she won’t get in the way of the investigations”

_Yeah… The investigations._

 

 

Eighteen days, twelve hours, twenty-seven minutes and a bunch of seconds later, Sherlock showed up at the spouses’ peripheral and bleak house with a newly rent jeep. John was already in the front garden, on the edge of the gate, while Mary was saying a last goodbye to the little girl, struggling to get free from the baby-sitter’s grip.

As soon as John saw Sherlock coming, he walked on the sidewalk and helped him load the car. Then the detective said a quick hello to the kid, who’d been trying to get his attention, and got back to the car. Mary was sitting in the back seat, John was sitting in the front one.

“ All of these should be quotation marks “Sit in the back seat, John. The front one is taken” he said, while getting near the driver’s door.

“By what? An air column? Look, if I do this it moves” he objected, waving a hand.

“Not that it’s a polite thing for you to do. That air was there before you!” he said, sitting in the car.

“So was your air!”

“But this is the air in my car, so I can do it!”

“It’s not yours, it’s a rent car!”

“Of course, but I rented it, so I can do it and you can’t. Now go sit backwards” he ended the argument by starting the car.

“What about the air in the back?” protested John, peeved, opening the door.

“The air in the back is inferior”

“That’s racist!”

“It’s called social hierarchy. Now get a move on, we have to pick up another person before we leave”

John slammed the door.

“Who?”

“Another person!” Sherlock cut it short.

“I see your maturity is making some progress, guys” commented Mary, “I’m really amazed! Congratulations!”

“Mary, don’t talk out loud, the air in the back doesn’t appreciate being sucked in the lungs and being smashed by the vocal cords”

“Does the air in the front?”asked John, sticking out towards Sherlock’s seat.

“Yes, it does. I asked”

Mary rolled her eyes. “As I was saying… “ she whispered, but the other two were too busy arguing to notice that she’d kept on mistreating that poor air in the back.

 

 

A quarter of an hour later, they arrived in another residential area of London; terraced houses garnished the edges of the street, their facades darkened by smog. They passed by four or five of them, all looking identical, then the car pulled over the pavement, near a house with a lilac door.

“It’ll take just a second”

“But who is it?” John tried asking again, the only answer he got in return was the sound of the door closing.

John saw him walking lightly towards the house, he would have said he was gloating, if that man weren’t Sherlock. He got on the doormat, then knocked and waited.

John started having a bad feeling about it.

The person who showed on the door short afterwards was a man. Almost as tall as Sherlock, blond hair, dark skin, a dumb smile on his face. He was dressed up with a jumper of the same colour of the door, he had an annoying posture and a voice having something very irritating in it.

Oh, and then there was the fact that he had just kissed Sherlock.

Like that! He’d opened the door and he kissed him on the mouth! As if he could do that! No one had ever said he could do that!

John made an irritated sound and turned away. He stayed like that for many seconds before noticing, in the corner of his eye, the two of them were still at it. Oh, come on, they were late!

He moved away the air in the front and honked.

Thank goodness, they moved apart. But now an horrified John was witnessing that impolite and insolent stranger lifting up a bag and following Sherlock towards the car.

He was coming closer. And he was a man. He was coming closer and he was a man who’d just kissed Sherlock. And now he was coming with them. And Sherlock was with a man. And now they were opening the trunk. And he was a man. The they moved towards the doors of the car and still he was a man!  
He sat. His gender was still the same.

 

“Oh, now you can move the air in the front!” an inexplicable hostility towards the newly arrived bloke made John speak without thinking first.

As a result he got a jab between the seventh and eighth rib by Mary, a look that said “Are you serious?” by Sherlock and a confused gaze by Mr I’m Dressed Like My Front Door.

“Just ignore him” said Sherlock, “He’s Adam. Adam this is John and this is Mary”

Adam turned around and shook warmly their hands.  
“It’s a pleasure to know you, I’m Sherlock’s boyfriend, but you probably already got that!” And he burst out laughing. A laughter that tempted John into puncturing his eardrums.

The smile slowly faded away from John’s face.

“Boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend” confirmed Sherlock, starting the engine.

“Boyfriend!” cried out Adam, smashing Sherlock’s cheek with a kiss.

 

 

 

 

“What time are we getting there?”

“We are going to Glasgow, we won’t be there before evening. We’ll spend the night in an hotel and I’ll solve the case tomorrow, there won’t be time for it today”

“Of course there’s no time. It’s 12pm! If only we hadn’t wasted our time in pointless stops!” said John.

“If only people didn’t buy bleak houses in bleak suburbs in the South of London we would have left at 10!”

“If only this car weren’t loaded with extra weight, we’d go a lot faster!”

“My thoughts exactly!” answered Sherlock, with emphasis.

“Okay, guys, don’t start again! Sherlock focus on the driving!” stepped in Mary.

John laid back on the seat, arms crossed, while his wife asked if Sherlock was sure about the “No sat-nav” thing.

Of course he is, he doesn’t need a navigator, he knows every damn street of the country! Would have answered John, but Adam did instead. He started praising the detective’s brilliant qualities, one after another.

John really hoped there was a bag to vomit in at his fingertips.

 

 

 

He’d hoped sleep would be merciful and would have blessed him with his grip. Even for just one hour. But nothing! The agony was only at the beginning.

Mary had fallen asleep on his chest twenty minutes earlier, while every attempt of the doctor not to listen to what those two in the front were saying was a complete failure.  
John ended up looking outside the window, having clear, in the periphery of his visual field, Adam’s silhouette and his hand. Hand that was on Sherlock’s left thigh.

Unacceptable! He was driving, he needed complete mobility!

John ignored it.

But then the hand slid even higher.

“Adam, don’t you think you could get in the way of Sherlock with that behaviour? According to the Traffic Safety Code, he should have free access to the gears.”

Sherlock glanced at John through the rear-view mirror.

“John, I foresee everything in advance, I calculate and examine every possibility ten seconds before its contingent happening. Even now that you are distracting me, I noticed there’s a 35 cm large hole on the road. There are twelve possible scenarios, of which the most likely is that everything is going to okay if I change the path of 4 degrees and keep a constant speed. So, there’s no need for you to remove your hand, Adam. I’ll tell you if it’s necessary. “

Sherlock’s exploit gave Adam a reason to start again his praising mantra WITHOUT REMOVING HIS FUCKING HAND!

“Tell me, Adam, how many years have you known Sherlock for?” asked John, interrupting Mr I Am My Door and emphasizing the word “years”.

Adam cheered up their ears with his laughter. Again.

“Years? Not at all, we’ve known each other only for three weeks, more or less…”

“Oh, I see… “ John was basically a beast who’d just started marking his territory, “And tell me, thanks to what case have you met? Were you a client?”

Now, that was what he needed to know: Adam had to be Janine 2, the return.

“Oh no, we met in a bar, one of ours. I was having a drink and suddenly I saw Curly Hair peering out the door. He came towards me and we gazed at each other for a long time, next thing I know: he was offering me a drink. And that’s how it started!”

While Adam entered the smallest details of his breath-taking story, that would have seriously requested a vomit bag, John started examining the meaning of those words.

Sherlock in a gay bar! Sherlock in a bar! There was something extremely suspicious about it. And the way he picked up that bloke, as if he was a premeditated victim… Yes, everything was clear: it was for a case!

Relieved by that deduction, John managed to relax.

“Okay, I’m sleeping for a while, in an hour we can shift and I can drive for a bit”

Sherlock nodded, eyes fixed on the street, John finally fell asleep.

 

 

 

As the vibrations of the vehicle stopped, the the Watsons woke up on the back sit.

“Lunch break!” announced Adam.

“What time is it?” muttered Mary.

“It’s twenty to two, better take something to eat” answered Adam, getting off the car.

“We only have half an hour, if we want to stay on schedule” added Sherlock.

They stretched bones and muscles, then they decided to make turns to go to the toilette, not to leave the car unattended. Mary and Adam went first, leaving Sherlock and John alone, leaned against the car.

“So what case is it?” asked John, out of nowhere.

“You know, the heiress and her lost jewels. And old classic.” Sherlock was looking at the horizon, over the small building of the service station.

“Not that one! Adam’s case!”

“Oh. It’s not for a case, John” this time Sherlock stole a glance at him. John noticed.

“You don’t fool me again, Sherlock Holmes. Janine is still in my memory!”

“Well, this time is different. Adam and I are together”

“Together-together?”

Sherlock sighed, exasperated, “Yes, got a problem with that?” he looked at him for a little while, their eyes met.

John tried not to stumble over his words, attempt miserably failed, and said: “Not at all, why would I?”

 

 

 

 

“Anyway… He seems… Nice. Also interesting, why not! I should ask him where he got that jumper… The colour is… Indescribable!”

John was leaning on the door of men’s toilet. Sherlock was inside it.

“And you want to discuss it now?” protested Sherlock.

“You wandered half naked in Buckingham Palace, you’re not making me believe that you have any decency left, Holmes!”

Sherlock kicked the door from the inside.

“I’ll let you notice that you’ll have to get in here, afterwards, and that I may not show any mercy towards you!”

“Nothing of what you can do could match what happened in military training camps, Sherlock. Don’t even bother to try” retorted John, still spread against the toilet’s door.

“Okay… You had it coming”

 

 

“Get out”

“No”

“Get out of the loo!”

“No!”

“Sherlock Holmes, I want you out of the toilet immediately!”

For how much he stretched, John was still twenty-five centimetres shorter that the detective. Detective who, by the way, had decided that the biggest spite was daring John to piss in front of him. Sherlock, indeed, had placed himself in the small space between the side of the toilet and the wall, in a 1mx1m room. He didn’t seem very inclined to leave.

“Don’t tell me my presence is embarrassing you” he said, in an affected voice.

“Get out!”

“What for? You have been in this situation before in the army, I’m sure… “

John made an exasperated verse and got out of the bathroom.

 

 

Stomping he reached the car and opened the door where Mary was sitting.

“Have you given back the women’s loo key already? Give it to me! Don’t ask”

On the cry of “Very childish, Holmes” John went on the back of the service station and slipped into the lady’s toilet.

 

 

Thanks to the mature quarrel between Sherlock and John, the group had only a quarter of an hour left to have lunch. They had to eat a quick sandwich in the awkward silence of the cockpit.

 

 

John shifted with Sherlock and was now driving, the detective sat in the back seat with Adam.

The vulture was only waiting for an occasion to lay his hands on him!

Mary was talking about something, probably the baby or maybe work, but John was too busy shifting from looking at the road to gazing at the retro-view mirror.

Adam had unfastened his belt and was now leaning towards Sherlock. The moment John took to check the road, Adam was nearer. Another quick look at the red car ahead of them and he found them kissing, as if they were two teenagers. All close and tight and…

“Careful! A fox!” shouted Mary.

A heap of red hairs darted in front of the car all of a sudden, John could do nothing but steer abruptly. He heard a dull sound coming from the back seat: the retro-view mirror showed two men rubbing their foreheads.

“Careful!” protested Sherlock, glaring at him. But John couldn’t help but feeling the pleasant taste of satisfaction emerging from his throat.

That beautiful moment didn’t last long, the two men started kissing again. Street. Now what’s-his-name was running his hands through Sherlock’s hair. Street. Now they were really snogging. Street. And making noises. Music.  
He needed some music.

Then, luckily, something softened those revolting sounds. It almost seemed a voice. No, it was a voice, quite an angry one too.  
Oh, right, it was Mary!

“The sat-nav, John. I do think you need it, you almost missed our exit! Why do I get the impression you’re not listening to me?”

“What? Yeah, set it. It’s in the thingy in front of you” he said, not stopping shuttling back and forth with his eyes. Plus, those noises were making him a bit nervous.

“Who says I can set it?”

“You’re a C.I.A. trained assassin, you know how to set a navigator!”

“Shush!” hissed Mary, glancing at Adam.

“Yeah, because you think he’s listening to you! Instead get a move on and set that thing”

“Wasn’t my punishment limited to mowing the lawn?”

“It seems you didn’t read all the clauses”

 

 

 

 

Two hours later Mary was in the driver’s seat, Sherlock and Adam were apparently sleeping and John was having a row with the stereo, that wouldn’t work.

With Mary’s help, he managed to set it on “CD-Rom reader” and inserted his compilation.  
“Just whistle like you work” resounded in the cockpit at a rock concert volume. John tried to turn the volume down, but it was too late.

“What the hell is this noise?” roared Sherlock.

“Sophie’s playlist, wrong CD” answered John, “Weren’t you sleeping?” he asked, while inserting the right CD this time.

“Never sleep in the middle of a case”

 “You never eat either”

“Who said I did? My sandwich has been adorning a flowerbed in the service station for almost four hours. It should be in an advanced state of decomposition by now”

“Keep on contributing to the resolution of the problem of world hunger, bravo!”

A Rolling Stone song made its way through the air in the car.

“No. Turn it off!”

Sherlock was sitting right behind John and had introduced his head in the anterior part of the cockpit; he was only a few centimetres away from John, who seemed to find the whole thing quite funny. He laughed. “I don’t think so!”

“Why do we have to listen to something that debases and disfigures the concept of music itself?”

“Sherlock, it’s Rolling Stones! They are the history of rock music!”

“Just because people have ridiculously lowered their expectations in the music field, it doesn’t mean we have to listen to this rubbish!”

“And yet we will, because I’m sitting in the front seat and we agreed that who’s in the front seat picks the music”

“No, we didn’t! When did we?”

“We voted while you were in your Mind Palace. Adam offered to vote for you as well. Now shut up and don’t abuse the air in the back!” John made clear that the conversation was over by turning the volume up.

Sherlock relapsed on the seat, sulking.

The truce didn’t last. Not even until the end of the first song.

While Mick Jagger was saying goodbye to a certain Ruby Tuesday, John perceived a shake.

Who could hang a name on you, when you change every new day? Continued the singer, and there there was another push.

_Still I’m gonna miss you._  
The refrain ended, the shakes dind’t.

Obviously, the origin was quite predictable: Sherlock, folded on the back seat, was kicking John’s seatback, following the rhythm.

John raised his eyes and tried to maintain control: he was just an immature child and soon enough he’d got tired.

But when also Baba O’Riley finished, without the pushes doing the same, John’s patience went to hell.

With a catlike movement he unfastened his belt and threw himself in the space between the two front seats, arms stretched. His only goal was to hit the detective blindly.

Before he could do anything, an abrupt arrest projected him forwards: Mary had pulled over the car and woken Adam.

She petrified husband and respective best friend with a look.

“Seriously? Are you serious?” she yelled, leaving behind a leaden silence. “I’ve never seen you act like this before! And, for God’s sake, make it so that I don’t have to see you like this ever again!”

Both Sherlock and John snorted and leaned back on their seats.

“Fine. Hope you got it. Now let me drive in peace and shut the hell up!”

 

 

 

“I’m parking the car, you take the luggage and try not to put on a little theatre in the hall” said Mary, sticking out the window of the jeep, “Or do it, if you want, but at least not for free!”

She vanished turning on the right.

“Wait, Sherlock, I’ll carry your luggage” said Adam, taking the detective’s trolley. John snorted, not exactly discreetly, and entered the hotel.

“Good evening, we booked… Three rooms, I think, a double room and two single rooms”

“Two double rooms actually” occurred Sherlock, holding Adam’s slimy hand. John looked away.

“Yes… Right… Two double rooms” he said, gritting his teeth.

 

 

“Can you believe it? CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?” John was repeating himself, while taking his clothes out of the trolley.

“That you have been that childish the whole time? Honestly, no. “ answered back Mary, she was in front of the mirror, brushing her hair.

“No, that Sherlock and that bloke… Are… That Sherlock has a boyfriend!” he finally managed to say, while releasing his tension on a shirt.

“Honestly, John, it isn’t a mystery that Sherlock’s gay”

John twitched and turned around.

“What? No! He’s not gay, he is nothing! He doesn’t have relationships!”

“Then how do you define yours?” said Mary, checking her make-up. She had a subtle black ring under her eyes, it had to be removed.

John had stiffened.

“You know what I mean!”

“Exactly” she winked.

John chucked his trousers on the bed with frustration, “At least my wife could not be implying that I’m gay?!”

Mary didn’t answer and went into the bathroom to take the make-up removing lotion.

 

 

 

“We’ve been waiting for you in the hall for fifteen minutes. What were you doing?”

John attacked Sherlock as soon as the elevator’s doors opened.

“Adam and I had a shower, after a whole day in a car… It was lovely. I don’t think it’s your business, anyway, John” he answered.

“You never take showers during a case!” replied John, grasping his jacket and getting closer to look at him in the eyes, threatening.

“What are you talking about, John!” Sherlock had freed himself from John’s grip and adjusted the fond on his suit.

“I had to buy a scrubbing sponge after a case that lasted one week because you couldn’t get rid of the stink! Please!”

Mary interjected and became a human shield.

“Shall we go and have dinner now? I think they have the kid’s menu as well”

 

 

 

John was in the middle of an atrocious war with his stomach that seemed very determined about sharing its content with the rest of the people in the room. Though it had a good reason, some disgusting images were being submitted to it.

“Sherlock doesn’t dance. No, he doesn’t dance” he kept on repeating, with his chin on his fist. He was sitting in the corner of a club. Mary had lost every hope to get any attention from her husband and was leaning against the wall.

“You already said that” she complained.

“No, but he doesn’t dance!”

“As I said…” said Mary, with gritted teeth. Resigned, she unlocked her phone.

The point was that Sherlock was indeed dancing! He was in the middle of the dance floor and he was moving to some Latin American song. They were holding hands and shaking and touching and they were all close and slimy and tight. It was definitely a nauseating view.  
I may go vomit now, thought John, scowling.

 

 

 

 

A man stopped in front of John’s table. Mary was in the toilet. John raised his eyes to look at the bloke, the bloke lowered his to look at John. Shortly afterwards another man came, putting his arm around the other one’s waist. The two of them were now staring at the little soldier threateningly.

“What’s your problem?” asked the first bloke.

“Right now? Two men blocking my view to the dancing floor”

“With those two!” added the other one, pointing at Sherlock and Adam.

“Does it bothers you that they’re gay, perhaps? Because we don’t like homophobic people around here” he got even closer, towering over John.

“What are you talking about?!”

“You have spent the last twenty minutes gesticulating and making comments on them, we heard you, and we don’t like it!”

John finally had the illumination and burst laughing.

“No, it’s all wrong, I…”

The bigger of the two grasped his coat, “Go on, what is wrong?”

“What is going on here?” Mary had occurred, alarmed by the situation, “First of all, take your hands off my husband!” she said, putting aside the bloke.

“They think I’m homophobic because of the Sherlock and Adam thing” explained John, buttoning up again the shirt.

Mary sighed, “Come with me, you two. I’ll offer you a drink and tell you what’s it all about”

 

 

The core of Mary’s speech was: “That is John, my husband, that is Sherlock and that is his boyfriend, Adam. Sherlock is in love with John, but he won’t admit it. John is in love with Sherlock, but he won’t admit it. Adam is a way to make John jealous.”

“See? No homophobia, just old, dear jealousy” she concluded.

The two men left, but not before patting John’s shoulder. He didn’t even notice, focused on following Adam’s hands, to see just how low they intended to go.

 

 

 

John was lying on bed, supine, hands on the back of his nape. It was 1 am and Mary had been sleeping for a while now.

Nowtheyarehavingsexnowtheyarehavingsexnowtheyarehavingsexnowtheyarehavingsexnowtheyarehavingsexnowtheyarehavingsexnowtheyarehavingsexnowtheyarehavingsexnowtheyarehavingsex.  
What was that noise? It’s surely them that are having sex. Them. Having sex. Sherlock and…

John uncovered and sat on the bed. It was cold and hot at the same time. He was sweating. He put on his shoes and his coat.

“Where are you going?” muffled Mary.

John put the key on his pocket.

“Out, I can’t sleep” and before even finishing the sentence he closed the door.

 

 

 

The hotel had a small private garden, a sort of colonnade, very intimate and completely discordant with the rest of the building. But at least it was a way to try and get out of his mind…

“Sherlock?”

Folded in his coat, barefoot, Sherlock sat on the floor, with his shoulders against a short wall.

“John?” he said too, surprised.

“What are you doing here?”

Sherlock moved his eyes around quickly, clearly looking for an answer. John noticed.

“The grass! I was studying this particular plant for the case. It’s only found in this area and…”

“Shut up!” he said, crouching and sitting next to him. John pushed him with his shoulder, “I know you’re lying”

“Quite right” agreed Sherlock, staring at his bare feet.

“So why are you here then?”

Sherlock muttered an answer, but only his teeth and probably the bacteria living in his mouth heard it.

“What? Speak louder”

“Adam wanted to sleep with me” he said, blushing.

A tiny, very acute voice screamed in John’s head. Somewhere in it there was a choir singing Hallelujah too. He had to breathe in without uttering that shout.

“Yes, I knew it! I said it was for a case!” exclaimed John, who felt a burden slide away from his chest and his stomach. “You should stop doing these things to people, Sherlock, anyway! You can’t go on misleading people with these false relationships! You never know who falls in love with you and who you could break  the heart to! It’s not pleasant, you know?”

Sherlock stared at him.

“Is your lecture over?”

“No, but I’ll continue tomorrow, “ he yawned, “I need some rest now”

John stood up.

“Are you leaving already?”

“Yes, tomorrow we have a case. You should go back in your room as well and don’t let anyone touch you if you don’t want to”

John walked away, with a new spring in his step.

 

 

 

The case was nothing exceptional, though Sherlock had praised it. The heiress had hidden her jewels to defraud the insurance policy and then she’d tried to incriminate the household.

Basically it was a case that had written “textbook” on it as big as they come, there was a red arrow pointing at the criminal and a huge “X” where the jewels had been hidden. John could not understand how Sherlock could have accepted a case like that. He’d solved it in half an hour.

A very annoying half an hour, during which Adam had done nothing but crying out “Brilliant!” and “Fantastic!”. John had never been like this… Okay, maybe he wasn’t allowed to say anything about it, but at least he’d never kissed Sherlock for each deduction he made! It was disrespectful towards Sherlock himself, it affected his professionalism. It was like Sherlock kissing John at each patient who entered the clinic… Mary! Like Mary kissing John at each patient who entered the clinic! Too many names, too much confusion!

John coughed.

“When you’ve done trying to dry out your saliva stocks, we’d love to eat something, before leaving”

The couple, who was using mouths to do something else rather than talking, parted.

“There’s no such thing as saliva stocks, John. Salivary glands are complex gland parted in acini that use Sodium-Potassium ATPases to regulate the quantity of saliva produced according to the circumstances and the percentage of water in the organism. Consuming all the saliva would equal dying from dehydration and it’s not an eventuality compatible with…”

John shushed him raising a hand, “Sherlock, I know. I’m a doctor. It was a figure of speech. Now let’s go.

 

 

 

John and Sherlock entered the bathroom to wash their hands.

“So why have we come here?”

Sherlock winked, underlining how stupid that question was, “Heiress, jewels, case, detective, investigate… Does any of these words sound familiar to you, John?”  
   
“Idiot! That case was totally dull, you’d never accepted it, even if it was in London! Tell me why we came here! Is it from Adam’s case?”

Sherlock washed his hands.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t talk to me like that. The case you are pretending to be in a relationship with Adam for! That case!”

Sherlock threw the wet handkerchief into the bin. “There’s no case about Adam. It’s not for a case” he said, with nonchalance. Before John could say anything he came back into the restaurant.

 

 

 

_“It’s not for a case”_ Thought John.

What the hell does it mean “It’s not for a case”?! Why would Sherlock fake a relationship if it weren’t for a case?

It was nonsense.

Sherlock was lying.

For sure.

John looked at the lasagne and fried chips in the plate. His stomach informed his that it was better not to ingest anything. Sherlock and Adam’s titters strengthened his decision.  
He cut in small pieces the lasagne, not to leave it completely untouched and drank a sip of beer.

“It’s not for a case” he thought again.

No.

It was nonsense.

 

 

 

John managed to intercept Sherlock alone, before they got into the care. Adam had gone to take the car from the parking lot, while Mary was… Somewhere. Probably two steps behind them. Not important.

He grabbed Sherlock’s arm.

“What do you mean ‘It’s not for a case’ ”

Sherlock didn’t stop walking.

“What of these six words put together doesn’t make sense in your head? Because in mine they have a very clear meaning” he answered.

“You said you didn’t want to sleep with him. So the relationship is fake. _So_ it must be for a case!”

Sherlock made an exasperated verse, “Come on, John! Even you can make this deduction!” Said that, he walked faster towards the car, pulled over next to the pavement.

 

 

 

Two hours later, John had limited the possible conclusions to two:  
1) Sherlock was a dirty bastard who was lying to him;  
2) Or… No. impossible. Sherlock had to be a dirty bastard who was lying to him.

He turned around towards the back seat, Mary was driving, Adam was asleep.

“About that thing we discussed before…” he said to Sherlock, “I have two hypothesis”

“And you want to discuss this _now_?” asked the detective, glancing at Adam.

“He’s sleeping, he can’t hear us” cut short John, “Back to the point. I have two hypothesis”

Sherlock was starting to seem a bit nervous, John ignored it.

“Either you are a dirty bastard and you are lying to me…” started John, but the words to formulate his second conclusion couldn’t bob up, “No. I have only one hypothesis, actually. That’s it: you are a dirty bastard who is…”

Mary steered abruptly, the pneumatics protested with a complaining sound. They stopped in the middle of a service station.

“Get out” she ordered.

“What?” said John.

“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, I want you out of this car!” she repeated, peremptory.

“What the…? Keep your wife under control!” protested Sherlock.

Mary turned around, with an agile move she grasped both his husband’s and the detective’s collars. “When I come back, if you haven’t talked to each other, I’ll leave you here”

Adam was woken up by all the hustle and just saw his boyfriend getting out of the car, in the middle of the motorway, having no clue why.

 

 

 

Had it been July, there would have been cicadas, it would have been better than that awkward, absolute silence.

Sherlock, John, a deserted tarmac square, two cars parked near them, the smell of petrol and some abandoned tyre.

And no cicadas.

“Great, your wife has just left us on the motorway. Fantastic!” cried out Sherlock, all of a sudden.

“I’ll call her!” said John, annoyed, red from the neck to the tip of his ears. He keyed the number with one finger and far too much strength, “She can’t act like this! Come on, what the…. Hello! Mary, come back h…”

Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.

“She hung up!” he said, shocked.

“Marvellous!”

The rumble of a motorbike took the silence away for a while.

“Talk! What do we need to talk for?” asserted John.

Sherlock had started to look seriously distressed, he was now walking back and forth in the square.

“There’s nothing to say! We don’t need to talk about anything, you and me!”

The detective had progressively shortened the distance of his pointless walking.

“I’ll try and call her again. There’s no need to abandon people on the motorway to have them to talk! And what should we talk about then?!”

John continued shouting and pressing random keys on his phone, while Sherlock was basically going round and round, as if every word John spoke made him change his direction.  
The other one persevered underlining how pointless that deed was and the lack of an argument the two of them should discuss. He went on for five more minutes, then Sherlock exploded:

“Yes, John, for God’s sake! We need to talk!”

John immediately stopped talking and turned white.

“ADAM!” shouted Sherlock.

The other one didn’t say anything. Sherlock was quivering, could stand still.

“ADAM, JOHN! ADAM IS NOT FOR A CASE! ADAM IS FOR YOU!” he said in the end. He yelled it, actually, because it was the only way he could say out loud.

John paralyzed. They were now looking in each other’s eyes, Sherlock was breathless, John could feel his heart pushing against the sternum

“You mean… You mean that…”

“THAT I DID IT TO MAKE YOU JEALOUS, YES!” he cried, opening his arms in a dramatic gesture.

If Sherlock yelled, John would have yelled too.

“AND YOU ARE AN IDIOT! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME!?”

“BECAUSE THERE’S NO NEED TO SAY IT! INTELLIGENT PEOLE GET THESE THINGS!” shrieked Sherlock ”JOHN, I’M TAKING A FAKE BOYFRIEND WITH ME TO MAKE YOU JEALOUS! HOW-DOES-IT-SOUND?”

“NOW I’LL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE BECAUSE YOU’RE AN IDIOT! DOES IT SOUND BETTER?”

“IS ‘YOU’RE AN IDIOT’ YOUR ONLY ARGUMENT?”

“IT’S THE ONLY ONE I NEED!” John shouted back, making a fist.

“YOU WOULDN’T DARE”

And the fist came and hit Sherlock right in the face, he stumbled backwards.

“WHY CAN’T YOU EVER BE CLEAR?!” John screamed on him.

“YOU GOT MARRIED!” answered back Sherlock, getting closer and invading John’s personal space again.

“BECAUSE YOU ABANDONED ME!” He shouted back, pushing Sherlock’s chest, “WHICH PROVES ME RIGHT: YOU ARE AN IDIOT!”

Sherlock moved even closer: “SO ARE YOU!”

“FINE”

“FINE”

They nodded. Then, at the same moment, they leaned to kiss each other.  
They kissed as if they were still fighting. It looked like they were trying to suffocate one other, they jostled and pushed away each other. They swung for a bit in the middle of the tarmac square, their hands against the other’s chest, trying to part. Then their fingers moved to the face, glided on the back neck and on the shoulders, they gripped strong enough to leave marks on their skins, hoicking around.  
Eventually the air ended and they pushed the other away.

They had heavy breath, red faces and couldn’t take their eyes off each other.

“FINE”

“FINE” they repeated.

“I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!” cried Sherlock.

“SO AM I!” shouted back John.

“FINE”  
“FINE”

Someone honked. Mary was leaning outside the car’s window.

“Okay, now if you may get back into the car, before I change my mind, Adam and I would like to go home.”

John grabbed Sherlock’s hand angrily and stomped towards the car. They settled on the back seat without a word.

 

 

 

 

Some things you can’t argue, like the spectral silence that was dominating the cockpit. Some things you can, like the fact that Sherlock and John were aware of it.

They were still very angry with each other, so angry that they hadn’t stopped holding hands for one second, the veins on the back were filled with blood and emerged from the skin. It was all they could feel, they were furious and they didn’t even know why, chances are that it was they only way they knew to deal with what they were feeling in that moment.

Adam got weary of that silence first.  He was on the front sit, in a temper tantrum he turned around.

“YOU ARE A HUGE ARSEHOLE!”  he shouted, and sat back, and almost immediately he turned around again and pointed his finger at John, “AND YOU TOO! IN FRONT OF YOUR WIFE!”

Sherlock and John, though, seemed too busy overthinking about every single thing they would have rubbed against the other’s face and it wasn’t physically possible for them to listen to Adam. On the other hand, Mary had reached a state of resignation a long time before, she wasn’t surprised at all about the event.

“Ain’t you gonna say anything?” Adam had started to attack Mary, as soon as he gave up on John and Sherlock.

Mary shrugged, she had one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the edge of the window.

“I resigned to the idea it could have happened since the first time I saw the two of them together.”

“But… But he exploited me!”

“Adam, John married me!” said Mary, “Please tell me what’s worse”

In same moment, they heard a sound of fabric rubbing against fabric. John had got to the decision he was far too furious with Sherlock, he had let go of his hand and made a fist with his fingers. He gritted his teeth as he prepared to hit Sherlock. The detective’s eyes had reduced to two fissures and stared back at him. With a feline jerk, John jumped on Sherlock and began to kiss him.

Very angry noises came from the back seat of the car.

“As I was saying” concluded Mary.

 

 

 

Mary dumped a very messy haired version of Sherlock and John in Baker Street a few hours later, she sped away.  
There were many things to set now, many things would have changed. The baby, Mary, everything.  
But in that exact moment, telling Mrs Hudson only one room was needed would have been the only thing John would have done before beating to a pulp his idiotic best friend.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some people told me Mary was OOC and I'm very aware of it.   
> I know she would not react like this to John choosing Sherlock over her, but I thought I would have spoiled the mood, you know what I mean? So, since it's supposed to be a commedy fic, have this kinder version of Mary! :)


End file.
